Keiser's grip on the dagger tightened. "What in the hells did you do, Aisha?" he muttered, not entirely sure if he wanted her to answer.

He shot a look at the fuming mage. Aisha's face was flushed red from anger and exertion, hair sticking to her temples as she spat, "None of your business... but why are you here? I'll tell Gideon you left your post at the palace!"

Keiser only rolled his eyes. "Wasn't planning to keep polishing royal boots forever anyway, Aisha," he muttered, voice dripping with dry amusement. "Boot-licking doesn't suit me."

Before she could fire back, he took a few running steps toward the pit's edge and jumped.

"Just do your job," he called over his shoulder as he slid down, "and I'll consider you scot-free!"

The moment his boots hit the slope of the pit, the everything scream around him. Blades of air tore through the smoke, thin, invisible lines that sliced through the broken ground like razors.

He ducked, twisted, swung. His sword caught the first few bursts with hard metallic clangs, but every deflection left fresh gashes along its edge.

Sparks burst from the contact points. One slice grazed his shoulder, another ripped clean through his sleeve and bit into the scarred skin beneath. The heat, the gust, the constant shifting of the ground, all of it pressed in at once, and he had to force his body to keep moving.

"Could've used a heads-up, Aisha!" he shouted, though the words were half lost to the wind.

He switched his grip, his other hand pulling the twitching dagger from where he put it. To his surprise, the runed blade hummed like it recognized the oncoming attacks, vibrating just before each gust cut through. The edge held firm where his sword faltered.

He gritted his teeth, parrying one, dodging another. A downward slice caught his sword again, and this time, the weapon didn't survive. The steel split halfway down the blade with a sickening crack.

Keiser let out a growl of frustration. "Perfect. Just perfect." He put the broken sword half aside and switched entirely to the dagger, crouching low as he pressed forward through the storm.

The air cut his cheek as he passed another invisible strike, close enough that he felt the sting of blood. The heat from the pit deepened under the haze. He couldn't see the prince now, yet, only the faint shape of something in the center of the pit made him continue in that direction.

But Keiser wasn't one for hesitation. He spat, tightened his grip on the dagger, and started down again, step by step, deflecting the unseen slices that screamed toward him with every move.

He managed to push forward, step by step, until the prince's silhouette finally came into view through the haze.

From above, Aisha's voice tore through the din. "You son of a bitch!"

Keiser had a laugh despite the blood in his mouth. "You're not actually insulting me!" he yelled back, ducking under another unseen slice of wind. Still, he could feel it, her mana humming faintly across his skin, crawling up his arm and chest.

She must've managed to weave a few protective runes onto the ground he'd stepped on, anchoring him with fleeting wards. Thin light flared briefly with each step he took, then vanished as quickly as it came.

It wasn't enough.

The ground beneath him cracked, loud and sharp, like bones breaking. The rumbling intensified until it drowned even his own ringing heartbeats. He could tell the Saint must've pulled the everyone back, away, the floor they'd been standing on was collapsing piece by piece, stone and the furnitures folding in on themselves.

Dust and smoke poured down in waves, choking the air. The whole building itself seemed to shake apart.

His half of a sword was long gone, reduced to nothing but a hilt and a scrap of metal clinging to it. With a wild grin, Keiser hurled the broken thing toward the figure ahead. "Catch, your highness!" he jeered.

To his shock, the prince moved. Just slightly, but enough to prove he was still there.

Keiser was only a few paces away now. His body screamed with a dozen cuts and burns, his tunic was shredded, his face streaked with ash and blood.

Every breath tasted like iron. The dagger in his hand deflected what it could, but each clash sent sparks across his vision, each burst of pressure leaving his limbs heavier.

Then came the strike he couldn't block.

A burst of raw mana howled toward him from nowhere, slicing across the air just above his throat. He barely managed to twist aside and parry with the dagger, but the sheer force of it numbed his hand, sent lightning shooting up his arm.

The dagger flew from his grip, spinning out into the storm, vanishing in the storm.

He froze. Empty-handed. Barely three steps away from the prince.

The air around him thrummed. The unseen blades carved new lines into the ground, circling, waiting. He could feel the next strike gathering, ready to tear him apart if he so much as breathed wrong.

Keiser stood face-to-face with the prince, eyes straining through the chaos, one last chance to see what exactly he'd come down here for.

He knew the next cut could end him.

And yet, his grin only widened.

That was when his eyes met the boy's face, and he froze.

Those eyes. Slitted, red, feral. The same as the hatchling's.

Memory once again bled into the present, the ruins, the border, the war, and he remembered the first time. The dragon hatchling trembling under the weight of its own power. He had thrown his cloak over it then, shielding it from the cold, from the flames, from everything that wanted to consume it.

Now, he had nothing left to give.

No cloak. No sword. Only blood and shaking hands.

"Easy, hey, easy…" he hissed under his breath, reaching even as his vision blurred. His palm was slick with blood, he could feel where a finger had been torn clean off.

The pain came in waves, sharp, useless, irrelevant. He pressed his arm around the boy anyway, dragging him close, trying to cover those bright, frantic eyes.

It wasn't enough. The boy's skin burned against his, literally burned, searing through the remains of his clothing. The heat rolled off him in violent bursts of mana, each pulse like the breath of a forge. Smoke coiled up between them. His flesh blistered.

He gritted his teeth and pulled tighter. "Come on brat… come back," he whispered, though his voice broke halfway through.

The boy's body trembled, half-wrapped with him. Keiser could see the scars more clearly now, dark and red, welted scars of twisted runes running up his neck, across his shoulder, even under the loose bandages fraying at his arm.

Old burns. Fresh welts. All of them gleaming under the flare of whatever mana was tearing through him.

Then, something snapped. Not a sound, but a shift. The air around them tightened, the ringing in his ears felt like someone screaming like metal grinding.

Keiser gasped, then coughed hard, his breath catching as a clawed hand shot up, closing around his throat. The boy's hand. Eyes no longer panicked but cold, focused.

"Don't make the same mistake," the boy rumbled, his voice layered, echoing.

Keiser didn't have time to answer.

A blinding surge of force burst outward, shredding the air, scattering dust, smoke, and debris in all directions.

For an instant, everything went dark. And then, collapse to red.

The last thing he heard was the groan of the building giving way, a cacophony of cracking stone, splintering timber, and the ceiling crashing down as the whole structure imploded.

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